


Invitation to a Beheading

by riosnecktattoo



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: (Nobody's dying fyi), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Bloodplay, Canon Compliant, Choking, F/M, POV Rio (Good Girls), Post S3, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, but not theirs, murder as foreplay, very slight dom!Rio vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riosnecktattoo/pseuds/riosnecktattoo
Summary: Rio has discovered Beth's plot to kill him and is resolved to end it, once and for all.But it's easier said than done and he struggles to let go of what they have.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 79
Kudos: 180





	1. The Headsman

**Author's Note:**

> _In spite of everything I loved you, and will go on loving you - on my knees, with my shoulders drawn back, showing my heels to the headsman and straining my goose neck - even then....._   
> 
> 
> \- Vladimir Nabokov, 'Invitation to a Beheading'

_Let go._

It’s his father’s voice he hears.

Brittle with grief. Steady with acceptance. A quiet kind of courage Rio had always admired. Squeezing his shoulder gently. His awareness of anything that wasn’t his mother’s small hand, softly cupped in his own, slowly comin’ back to him.

The realisation that she was cold, that she wasn’t holding his hand back anymore - and his father’s voice beginning to break. _Mijo_ , he had whispered, _you can let go now._

He sniffs, tips his glass, throwing the last sip of his vodka down his throat, bringing it back down to the varnished bar top with a definitive _thud,_ clearin’ his mind. Signalling for a refill and a glass of bourbon ready for when Elizabeth shows up.

It resurfaced sometimes. The memory. The total lack of fuckin’ control. The plunging loss. An acute, _violently_ silent pain.

_Fear._

Not terror, not somethin’ as urgent as that. Not panic or anything that made his blood pump fast. Fear that he was losing somethin’ precious to him. Fear of being _without._ That life was suddenly more lonely than it was before. That he had no choice in any of it.

And though it pisses him off to admit, he feels that way now.

Waiting for Elizabeth to come sit down next to him.

Waiting to have one last drink with her before - - before he has to let go.

Before he has to take care of it.

He shifts in his seat, feels the gun in his waistband beneath his shirt. Cleaned this mornin’. A full clip. Heavier than normal.

A buzz in his pocket has him checkin’ his phone. An update from Mick.

_Triggerman in boot. Warehouse. Ready when you are._

S’not that he’s _disappointed_ in Elizabeth’s choice in hitman. But shit, he almost took offence. Took one look at the old bastard and his sensible cardigan and thought _really, mami - this fool?_

He laughed.

_Real cute._

It wasn’t even that he was underestimatin’ him, had learned enough in the game to never do that. Hell, Elizabeth taught him first hand.

But c’mon. _That dude?_

Please.

His fingers twitch, knuckles crackin’ as he flexes his right hand – that was one bullet he couldn’t wait to see find its mark. A trigger he was itchin’ to pull.

And Mick had stuck him in the boot, so that would be funny.

He was a shit tail, had seen him a bunch of times. Once he straight-up sat down next to him when he was eatin’. _Waved_ for fucks sake. The only thing he could give him credit for was how good he was at hidin’ what he _really_ did behind working at that Pack ‘N’ Ship joint.

Took him awhile to dig that up, took him awhile to connect those dots.

That was when he stopped laughin’. When it really hit him.

Yeah, that dude didn’t stand a chance in killin’ him. But Elizabeth didn’t know that. Elizabeth thought he’d get it done. Hoped he would. Bet on it. _Wanted it._

Elizabeth had been tryin’ to kill him.

It floored him. Angered him. Made somethin’ that felt like hate blister on his tongue. Fuck – _it hurt._ Cause they were _good._ Could work together at that stupid little spa place and forget the bad shit. Yeah, he had messed with her, made her life hell. But she’d tried to fuckin’ _kill him._ He’d choked through a tube for weeks, screamed when he moved, knew what it felt like to start slippin’ away, to blackout from pain. He’d cursed and fought with any strength he had left to be _anywhere_ but that damn hospital bed. Anywhere but that cold room that reminded him of –

And he’d let her live. Felt fair at the time. More than fair, considerin’. She had to know he wasn’t gonna hurt her? Thought that was pretty obvious at this point. Well - until _now._

It had him actin’ crazy. Goin’ over it all. Thinkin’ about looks she’d given him. The softer ones. The sharp, irritating _thing_ with them still disturbingly strong.

The fact the she’d called it off a few weeks back didn’t piss him off any less. Just confused him.

_Why?_

It got messy. Mostly cause it had somehow gotten back to Eric Church. One of the guys he had debts with who had kept Rio’s interests stable while he was – well – on the bench.

He mostly dealt with the pills side of shit, but he was a big hitter. Not to be messed with unless you could back it up.

And he was sick of him ‘ _fuckin’ around with that housewife’ -_ as he put it.

And Rio owed him.

So finding out Elizabeth had a hit out on Rio? He made it clear what he expected. That enough was enough. That he’d wave the debt if he could just prove he had his shit together. Managed to drop in some threats about his business. What he could do to him.

Asked how Rhea was doin’. How old Marcus was now. All with a _look_ that made his gut lurch. Made him wanna tear the names out of his mouth, make it so he could never speak ‘em again.

He wasn’t the type to go after family, but it fucked with him like he knew it would.

And he should _want_ to end it – _right?_ He should.

He does.

He has to.

So why did it feel like this?

Why was his leg bouncin’ against the bar stool? Why was he hopin’ she never showed? That his last memory of her could be her laughin’ at his handwriting. Why did it feel somethin’ like fear?

The things he were afraid of had already eaten him. Long ago. Spat him out different.

The cold clarity of a hospital room, not his, but that of someone he loved. Disinfectant burning his nose and counting beeps. Watching a chest rise and fall. The _click_ of rosary beads runnin’ through his hand. Bargaining with a God he’s not sure he believed in anymore.

And who didn’t keep up his end.

His mother looking him in the eye with a spark of recognition. Gripping his hand so _tight._ Years of confusion and forgetting the face of her son and bone-deep _pain_ melting away - telling him he was a _good boy_ before her final breath.

Takin’ a piece of him with her.

Sitting like that for hours. Unable to let go. His father’s words still clear in his mind.

So clear he even turns over his shoulder on reflex.

Just in time to see Elizabeth walk in.

He’d thought a drink before would be a good idea. That he could work up to it. Have one last _somethin’_ with her. Selfishly. Thought it’d be easier to get her to the warehouse if he was the one driving. Maybe be able to convince himself he feels nothin’.

But it was a fuckin’ stupid idea cause she walks in and everything about her hits him with permanence. Alive in a way he can’t imagine puttin’ a stop to.

Did she feel like this every time she saw him? For the weeks she was actively trying to get him killed? Or did she look at the ways he pulsed with life and not care? She had messed around with his family when she thought he was dead and in some fucked up logic he thought it was cause she felt some type of way about it. Felt guilt. Regret. That she would take it back if she could.

But then that shit had been undone. She’d played with his son, got Rhea to save her ass and for what? So she could do all she could to kill him again? Would she look in to Marcus’s eyes after, knowing she’d taken him from him and pretend to care when he realised Daddy wasn’t comin’ home this time? Would she take his drawings and stick ‘em on her fridge without shame?

“Hey.” she calls as she walks over. And he knows he’s starin’. Knows he can’t help himself, even now.

She just – why does she have to look like _that?_

She glows, always does. Makes her own light. A pyre wrapped in silk. He drags his eyes down the line of her body, sucking his lower lip in to his mouth at the way her hips rock. Can tell she’s feelin’ good in her dress, cinched tight at the waist in a way he’d like to see come undone. Get her bare and burnin’ up beneath him.

_Stop._

He clears his throat, turns his face back down to his glass. “Yo.”

She slides in next to him, rolling her shoulders so her coat slips off and shifting her weight to get comfortable.

“This for me?” she gestures at the bourbon.

“Course.” he nods. Can’t help following the way her dainty hand wraps around the glass as she lifts it to her glossy lips. Somethin’ sticky and peachy staining the rim of the glass.

She closes her eyes, savoring that first sip, and he can see she’s matched her eyeliner to the violet shade of her dress. The colour somethin’ like the amethyst stone Rhea once tried to give him to help _‘relieve stress’_ or some chakra bullshit he didn’t go in for.

Swears it almost makes those dark blue eyes of hers look purple when she opens them and for a stupid second he thinks she looks like a flower.

_Let go._

“You goin’ somewhere?” he grunts.

“What?”

He juts his chin towards her dress, how it looks like she made an effort for somethin’. Or someone.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She tucks a loose gold curl behind her ear, performatively slow, drawing his gaze on purpose, makes her eyes all big.

“Yeah, you do, ma. This -” he tugs gently on the floaty sleeve of her little dress, drags his eyes over the lower-than-normal dip at her cleavage, down to the skin of her knee peeking out where her legs are crossed.

“Looks like you got big plans.”

“It’s nothing.” she shrugs, voice all breathy. Cheeks pink.

“Aight, whatever you say.” he drawls, realises he’d left the backs of his fingers on her bicep, just below the sleeve, stroking her smooth skin slowly. Feeling the warmth. The goosebumps from his touch.

_Alive._

He flicks his eyes up to hers to find her watching him, both staring for a moment as his fingers stroke down her arm.

He jerks back.

“You look good, Elizabeth.” he purrs.

She takes a second, thinks he hears her breath catch. “Thank you.”

They take another sip of their drinks in silence. He wonders if she got all pretty cause she knew she’d be seein’ him. If the building tension and growing easiness between them made her think they were headin’ somewhere good. And shit, maybe they had been.

_Was that why she called it off?_

He’d almost kissed her. Last week. Just before he left the spa place. When she pointed out his handwritin’ in the books and burst in to giggles at his frown. Swayed in to him. Her eyes dropping to his lips with a question.

But they couldn’t go back to that.

They couldn’t ever have that again.

And then he’d found out what she’d been doin’.

“So,” she interrupts his thoughts, “what’s this about?”

He considers her a moment, finds himself tryin’ to memorise the curves of her face, grinds his teeth a little before pushing forward. “Straight to business, huh?”

“What else is there?” she smiles as she says it, but there’s a look. A challenge there that gives him deja vu. Somethin’ sad and unspoken that he ignores.

“Got a proposition for you.”

“O - _kay?_ ”

“You said you wanna step up your printin’ operation, yeah? Got my eye on some warehouse space you could move it to. Thought we could go check it out.”

She looks surprised for a moment, before she blinks really fast. “Now?”

“Well, you can finish your drink first, but yeah. If you’re down?”

“Yeah, sure okay I’m – um – _down_.”

It makes him warm, the way she says it, and he wishes she told him she couldn’t. Not tonight.

But she’d been all flustered and grumpy for ages now when it came to printin’ the cash late at night in that li’l back room. Knew she’d jump at the chance to have her own set-up.

“Cool.” he drawls.

“Great.”

They hang out for a bit longer. Finds himself taking smaller and smaller sips of his drink until the glass is empty and so is hers and there’s nothing stopping them from leavin’.

Shit, she even smiles at him, all excited and pleasantly relaxed when she turns to slip off her seat. Her knees brushing his thigh, eyes sparklin' with a _shall we?_ kind of look.

The curl falls back in to her face, but she leaves it.

She leaves it.

And so does he.

Can’t afford to touch her again.

But when he opens the passenger side-door of his car some kind of auto-pilot takes over and he finds himself reachin’ out his hand for her to take, guiding her up the step, her little fingers squeezing around his tightly in a _thank you_ motion as she pushes up.

And when she lets go he slams the door harder than he should, rounds the car, shakes his left hand out at his side like he can get rid of her ghost.

That was it. That would be the last time he touched her.

It’s a quiet drive, never did feel the need to fill any silence with Elizabeth, but she starts babbling away anyway. Can’t help herself.

She’s talking about soccer. Says somethin’ about Jane biting a kid that makes him laugh before he can remember where he’s takin’ her. That she ain’t goin’ home to her kids this time. That he can’t stop that from being true. He has debts to pay. He has to. _He wants to._

 _She’s been tryin’ to kill you_ he thinks to himself, like a mantra. Over and over. Planned it out. Thought about it for weeks. Not a knee jerk reaction, not in the moment – premeditated. Paid for it. Asked for it. Tries to let that truth pierce her soft laugh and silvery voice and the way her scent fills the car. Sticks to him. Somethin’ like strawberries and somethin’ rich that’s just _her_ that makes it hard to care about anythin’ beyond her here with him. Right now.

Makes it hard not to pull over and tell her everythin’ and ask why she called it off and kiss her and taste her skin and pull her in to his lap and get her sighin’ his name, maybe scream it – beautiful and alive and _his_ – and start again.

_Let go._

He rolls a window down. The fresh night air a relief to him but a shock to her and when she asks him what he’s doing he just grunts. Feels her eyes on him. Notices how she shrinks deeper in to her coat.

“How much farther?”

“Not long now.”

He thinks about when he woke up in that hospital. Alone. Every inch of his skin heavy and tender and itchy. The drugs makin’ him feel numb. How the first instinct before he was lucid was to look around the room for his mother.

Then he remembered how she had died in a bed like this and he tried to sit up, rolled suddenly to his side, a fierce urge to _not be there_ , passin’ out from an explosion of pain ricocheting in his chest as the wires and shit he was hooked up to tore out of his skin. His stitches burstin’ until all he could see was thick red oozing through gauze and then Elizabeth’s face when she pulled the trigger and the sound of her footsteps as she left him to bleed out on the floor and then the physical sensation of his mother holding his hand -

He thinks about her. How it started. How her eyes would glaze over. Panic in her face as her loved ones turned to strangers. How she always asked where his tío Cesar was even though he had died when Rio was nineteen. How she would get angry in a way she never did before. The way his father would pull her into the hallway and hold her as she cried with frustration.

The way she got smaller and smaller. Grey where there had been so much colour. As she lost herself. And he thought nothin’ could be worse than this.

Until the day she asked him who he was and what he was doin’ in her kitchen - and started screamin’ for help.

Rio clears his throat. Blinks harshly as the road gets a li’l blurry. _Gotta get the windows cleaned_ , he thinks. Doesn’t know why these memories are flooding back in to his mind right now.

_Focus._

The roads get steadily quieter, darker, the buildings sparser and only a few flickering streetlamps dot the sidewalks. Turning down the road that leads to an industrial estate, and Rio’s old warehouse up ahead. He can see the steel shutters rolled up, a harsh light burning inside where Mick and his boys are waitin’.

The gravel crunches as he pulls up in front, and he can see her peering out the window toward the open shutter.

“This is the place?” she questions as the car stops.

“This is it.”

She’s smirking at somethin’ as she scans the building.

“What? Not your style?”

“No, it’s just – it looks kind of like that warehouse I dropped the wrapping paper money off for you – where I -”

She turns, her eyes bright with nostalgia for when things were easier, when they were still strangers.

When she stares back at him, her hand spread over her bare collarbone, he knows she’s thinkin’ about those pearls of hers she left for him in a place like this.

Pictures the walnut box he has ‘em in back at his place. The hinges on it shaky from overuse.

The way the pearls _click_ in his hand like a prayer -

They’ll still be there when he gets home – but she won’t be breathin’. They won’t ever touch her neck again.

“Yeah, guess it does.” he drawls, watching the pads of her fingers where they stroke over the delicate column of her neck, the shadow of her jugular where it pulses, remembers the sounds she made when he buried his face there, the way she squirmed under him –

He sucks in a steadying breath and turns away. “But this ain’t that.”

He’s glad for his long black coat when he jumps out the car. Tucks his hands in his pockets and nods for her to follow as he starts walking to the open shutters.

Can hear her shoes behind him. Tryin’ to keep up with his stride.

“It’s big.” he hears her call to his back.

“More space, more money, darlin’.”

He can feel his heart. Makin’ itself known against his rib cage as they get closer.

And he wishes he’d sat with her in the car a little longer.

Knows as soon as he’s in front of his boys it’s done. That there ain’t no goin’ back.

He dips his head under the shutter, immediately clocks Mick leanin’ against his black car pulled in to the middle of the space, the boot facin’ him.

There’s a shitty old table and chair next to it from the last time they had business like this, two of his other guys posted on top of it.

He switches attitudes then. Cold. Cuts the frayed cord between him and her. That was it. It had to be.

_Let go._

He nods at Mick before he turns to face her. Elizabeth has stopped a few feet from the table, peering around, eyes jumpin’ between the four of ‘em. Her thin coat hanging loose, can see how a shiver courses through her.

“Didn’t know we’d have company.” she frowns.

“They’re not here for us.”

She gapes for a moment, her instincts startin’ to kick in at his detached tone, pouting her lips in question. “What is this?”

“This is where I like to care of business, mama. If I can. See, it’s quiet. Off the main road. No passers-by. Belongs to me.” he pauses, grinds his jaw as he stares her down. “Easy to clean up.”

She’s tryin’ to understand, he can see. Tryin’ to work out what situation she’s in.

He thinks about the shit Mick had told him earlier today, when he’d been workin’ the old guy over. Lets it fill him with the rage he needs right now.

“Yeah, it ain’t a busy street next to a deli, or outside a restaurant or - - shit, what was it?”

“A locker room.” Mick mumbles.

Rio snaps his fingers, “A _locker room_ , that’s it.” laughing cruelly. “Nothin’ like that at all. But I get it done.” he spits.

Her eyes bulge, searing blue as she gulps. As his meaning washes over her.

She steps backwards.

“You take another step toward that exit and he puts one in your knee.” he tilts his head towards Dags, standing from the table, gun at his side.

Elizabeth freezes, her fists clenched, chest rising and falling with increasing intensity.

“Rio, I -”

“Don’t.” he bites. Tries to shake off the sound of his name on her lips.

“Will you just _listen_ to me, I wasn’t –”

_“Enough.”_

She sucks in a breath as she studies him, somethin’ flickering across her face, a calm resolve that doesn’t make any fuckin’ _sense._ “What are you going to do to me?” she asks.

He’s stuck on her face a second, the stubborn set of her jaw, before turning to Mick.

“Pop it.”

Mick silently moves to the boot of the car, hooks his fingers under the latch and pushes up.

The electric lamps strung across the corrugated roof beat down in an unforgiving way, so when the boot opens the guy squints in pain, one eye swollen and split as he struggles to adjust. His mouth taped, crusted with blood, and his hands zip-tied behind his back.

Looks like a fuckin’ idiot where he squirms. Like he finally understands what game he’s been playin’. And all the wrong moves he made. But instead of facing it with some balls he’s cryin’ like a li’l bitch as he’s hauled out of the boot and on to his feet.

His eyes are white and bloodshot, pleading as Mick walks him past Rio.

Mick drags him to stand next to Elizabeth, and he can tell she’s barely looked away from him.

Isn’t looking to the guy she hired to kill him shakin’ next to her, who’s only here cause she pulled him in to this mess. She isn’t crying or making a sound. Just watches Rio, eyes locked to his.

Rio doesn’t break his gaze as he lifts his chin slightly, Mick taking the hint and kickin’ the guy in the back of his legs so they buckle and he falls down on to his knees.

He finally reaches behind him, dips his hand inside his coat and under his shirt to pull his gun from where it’s tucked in his waistband.

He pulls back on the slide, letting the black metal _crack_ in to place as he chambers a round.

There are eyes on him. Not just Elizabeth’s. His guys either side. Expectant. And Mick. Somethin’ tired and judgemental there that pisses him off.

And he wants ‘em gone.

“Leave us.” he commands.

“Boss, that ain’t a good -”

“ _Leave._ I don’t need you here for this.” he growls, and they all take the hint, ambling towards the car and gettin’ inside. Mick throwin’ one last look his away before he climbs in the driver’s seat, slams his door and reverses out through the open shutters.

Elizabeth is still standin’, a breeze whipping through the warehouse that makes her dress pull against her, rippling over the curves of her body, her hair floating around her face. _His heart again._ Thudding. A need to touch her _one last time_ surging through his veins that he chokes on as he forces himself to focus.

_She’s been tryin’ to kill you._

“On your knees.” he instructs.

He can see her legs lock out in refusal, the way she swallows, but no panic - her lips parting softly.

“No.” she throws back.

“Get. On. _Your knees.”_ he husks deeply, slow, so she gets that he ain’t playin’ this time.

It has an effect on her, but not the one he expected. Swears he can see her tremble, but not from fear.

She slowly grabs at the fabric of her dress on her thighs, gently tugs up the hem so it’s risen just above her bare knees. His eyes drop, can’t help following the action, before he flicks his gaze back up to hers when she starts to sink down to the floor. Eyes on his. Like she’s only kneeling cause _she_ wants to.

His jaw rocks, tongue running over his teeth. Hates himself when he feels his cock twitch at the image of her gettin’ on her knees for him.

“Like this?” she purrs, defiant, lifting an eyebrow.

Rio sniffs, clicks his jaw as he looks away for a second. Clears his mind by turnin’ his attention to the triggerman.

Wants to wipe that expression off her face. Wants her to _get it._

He raises his gun, aims it straight towards the old guy, his muffled cries getting louder as he senses his end.

Rio pulls back on the trigger, his arm recoiling as the loud _bang_ of the bullet being fired echoes around him.

There’s a flash, a wisp of smoke from the barrel that blurs Elizabeth for a moment. But then it clears and he can see – she barely flinched.

He hit him in the temple, just off center, the back of his skull blown out. Nearly took his head clean off with this caliber. Meat and bone and shit that used to be his brain spillin’ out of him where he now lays collapsed on the concrete. Black blood leeching out and pooling. His head must’ve spun as the bullet tore through him cause Elizabeth is covered in it.

But her eyes are still locked on his with fury. Her breathing a li’l heavier as she ignores the blood spattered down the left side of her face, sticking to her hair, catching in her lashes. But no scream. Like the limp body next to her ain’t shit. Like she feels none of it.

Somethin’ fucked up in her gaze that says _You’ll have to do better than that._

When did she get so cold?

_Did he do this?_

And he thinks maybe he’s already killed a part of her – her peace.

He sucks in a wet breath as he slowly pivots his aim.

_Let go._

The gun feels too heavy, her eyes too blue, his heart too loud.

Somethin’ about the look on her face reminds him of when he put that gold gun barrel right under her chin. The way she pulls her shoulders back, strains her neck, all proud and unfazed.

He can’t look at her while he does it. Should’ve made her face away.

“Close your eyes, Elizabeth.”

“No.” she whispers, her lips pouting around the _O_ sound. Blood drippin’ from her chin down to the freckly skin of her heaving chest. Like she’s an animal, fresh from a kill.

He moves his finger to the trigger, can’t stand the way his hand shakes. The lack of control. Of himself. The loss he can’t face.

He grits his teeth, sucks in air through his nose as he scowls, zeroes in on the way she glows through his blurry vision. Thinks about the debts he has to pay. Tries to see everythin’ about her he hates but sees everythin’ he – everythin’ he likes. Realises they’re the same thing.

His scars throb through his shirt, pulsing with _her –_

And it’s his father he hears. Always.

_Let go._

But shit - he _can’t_.

He doesn’t want to.

Refuses.

 _“Fuck!”_ he rages, voice hoarse with frustration – with himself. With her. _With them._

Screws his eyes shut so he can’t see how fuckin’ pathetic he is - before dipping the angle of the muzzle suddenly, squeezin’ the trigger hard, firing four shots in to the concrete between them.

Lets the silence engulf him as he pants, ragged, blinking his eyes open slowly to face it - to find Elizabeth through the turmoil.

He expects anger, confusion, derision – maybe a bitter laugh at how deep in his head she’s buried.

But through the blood – he sees it –

Primal and unashamed –

_Desire._


	2. Bluebeard's Wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _.....And afterwards - perhaps most of all afterwards - I shall love you, and one day we shall have a real, all-embracing explanation, and then perhaps we shall somehow fit together, you and I, and turn ourselves in such a way that we form one pattern, and solve the puzzle....._   
> 
> 
> \- Vladimir Nabokov, 'Invitation to a Beheading'

He can taste the smoke.

It’s mixed with the concrete dust tickling his nose where the floor spat out flakes of the stuff with each impact of a wasted bullet.

Scratches his throat as he gulps on air. The gun hanging lose at his side, weighing him down, still a few rounds left in the clip.

Feels like he can taste blood too. Or maybe it’s in the air - a dull rust flavour coating his tongue - or just the memory of when his own filled his mouth that never quite fades, but there’s nothin’ on him.

Unlike her.

And she’s still kneelin’.

He’d shown his hand – shown that when it came to it – _really_ came down to it – he didn’t have it in him to kill her.

But she didn’t stand. She didn’t run. She ain’t even _sayin’_ shit.

Just that _look._

 _God,_ that fuckin’ look.

He’s seen it before, but never like this - somethin’ about the blood and the dead body right next to her and the unflinching focus of her eyes -

Nobody he brings here ever leaves alive.

That’s not how it worked. This was the kill floor. And even with the amount of bleach poured over the place, you could still smell the iron in the air.

How many of his own damn rules was he gonna break for her?

It’s so _quiet._ All he can hear is their breathing. Chews his lip as he tries to find words, anything to get away from this moment, stop it stretchin’ out like it is.

“Are you done?” she mutters, the words sounding wet as they leave her stained mouth.

_The fuck?_

“Well, if it’s all the same to you – I’m going to stand up now.” she mumbles, voice _almost_ steady.

She brings a leg forward and up suddenly, so she’s only kneeling on the one leg.

“Stop.” he warns, but doesn’t raise the gun.

“I don’t need to be on my knees for you to shoot the floor again, now do I?” she spits.

 _He hates her._ Hates that she has this over him. Hates how his first instinct is to help her up.

She shifts her weight in to her bent leg and tries to push up, but she’s not as balanced as she thought she was, tipping to the side, havin’ to bring her left hand out to stop her from falling.

Her palm lands in the pool of blood. She looks at it. Sucks in a breath before lifting it out, pulling against the gluey red drag, her hand drippin’ and covered as she pushes up to stand with more concentration.

The way her legs wobble a little when she’s standin’ is the only real tell that she’s got adrenaline pumpin’ through her veins, her heels scraping against the uneven concrete.

He shifts on his feet, side to side, feeling caged, the anger building again - and a weird mix of relief. Freedom of the burden, the weight of her death he would never be able to carry.

She inspects her hand, then her coat. The blood spattered down the left side. Can tell by the way she moves her arm that it’s soakin’ through the sleeve to her skin.

Her shoulders roll back as she decides to shed it all together, peeling the wet sleeve down her arm and tugging it off her wrist before she lets it fall in to a sodden pile next to her, shaking excess blood off her hand but it’s still covered in it. Standin’ in just her thin little dress. Lookin’ like she stepped straight out of some bad horror movie.

All he can see is snow white skin, deep purple – and red. Shiny where it coats her hand, drips down her face, sticks to her hair, rolling droplets down her throat, a long stain on her shin from where the blood had pooled out on the floor and touched her where she kneeled.

She’s lookin’ down at the body.

“He had a family. A kid.”

“So do I.” he grunts. She’s fuckin’ _unbelievable._

She turns suddenly to look him in the eye. “You didn’t need to kill him.”

“Yeah, I kinda did.”

“What is _wrong_ with you?” she shouts, and it feels a little too familiar. But it’s more – _surprised_ this time. Not angry. No venom. Almost amused. “So you found out and – what? Thought you’d put on a show?”

“This ain’t a show, Elizabeth. _This_ –” he waves the gun towards the body near her feet, to the heavy, messy tension between him and her, “this is consequences.”

“Bullshit. You could’ve done it in the car if you wanted to.” she pushes, “If you _actually_ wanted to.”

“You don’t know _anythin’_ about what I want.”

“I called it off, alright. It was over!” she yells.

_Why?_

“You think I give a shit about that?! You been tryin’ to kill me, you think I can just let that slide?”

“You just did.” she takes a step closer to him. “I’m still breathing.”

She takes another step, nearly within arm’s reach.

 _Fuck_ , he wants to touch her. Wants to feel her pulse – make sure.

Wants to wrap his hands around her throat and _squeeze_. Put an end to it.

She looks fuckin’ insane. The deep blue of her eyes hazy with _somethin’_ familiar and needy while she ignores the ruin around her, all over her. She licks her lips, slow and deliberate, and his jaw goes slack when he sees her tongue swipe over the blood there. How she must _taste_ it.

And when he sees the corner of her mouth quirk he flicks his eyes back up to find her watching him.

“Nobody leaves here alive.” he asserts, reminds himself. Backing up against the table, tryin’ to put some distance between them. “I can’t let you leave here.”

“But you’re going to.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“I’m going to live.” she states, confident. “I’m the one you _want_ to live.”

He scoffs, “You ain’t special, darlin’.” but it sounds like bullshit cause it is.

“Yes I am.” she whispers, eyes runnin’ all over his face, “To you, I am.”

A drop of thick blood runs down the line of her jaw, swells and falls from her chin to her chest, trickles slowly down the dip in her cleavage and disappears, leavin’ a smear he wants to lick clean. He rolls his neck out, hears a _crack_. Tries to ignore how he’s half-hard at the image of her covered in blood from the man he’d just killed. The body goin’ cold a few feet away.

“I hired him. I paid him. I wanted you gone.” she steps closer again, “I _thought_ I wanted you gone.” she corrects herself and she’s close enough he can smell her fuckin’ perfume, her skin, tries to hold his breath.

“I did what I did for _me_. For my family. I thought you _–_ we weren’t – I was _scared._ I wanted my life back. And at the time it felt like a solution.”

She’s too close. _Too close_ and the promise he made himself that he’d never touch her again starts to feel impossible.

“I’m glad I stopped it. I’m glad you’re alive -” she continues, “but I’m not sorry.”

It burns him, makes his rage simmer anew and he lifts the gun sharply. Aims it straight at her, the barrel level with her face - nearly touchin’ her cheek with how close she is – and keeps his trigger finger carefully pressed along the edge of it.

“You wanna die?!” he growls.

“No.” she whispers, voice silky as she shakes her head, “No, I want to live.”

Then, before he can understand what’s happenin’, she gently leans her face forward, tilts her chin up, eyes still stuck on his, dark in a way that makes him swallow _hard_ as she places her lips against the gun. Kisses it all slow, drags her pouty bottom lip up the tip of the barrel, lets it catch there a moment, lets her eyes flutter closed before pulling back.

He gulps, pants as he watches her, fails to suppress an almost painful groan in his throat with how much he wants her.

And when she opens her eyes, he knows he’s fucked.

“Don’t you?” she challenges.

It hangs in the air.

There’s death, there’s blood and he brought her here to kill her – but he’s never needed her so bad.

 _She glows._ Still. Like this. She can’t help it. So _alive._ And he needs to feel it. Taste the light.

He drops the gun, throwin’ it behind him to the table blindly, bringing his right arm back up to reach out and grab at her throat hard. His whole hand circles around it, grippin’ her tight, watchin’ her gasp before he yanks her against him and kisses her.

Her hands cradle his jaw, painting warm blood on to him, dragging them down his neck to dig her nails in to his shoulders through his coat, crushing herself against his body - and he had forgotten how fuckin’ _soft_ she is.

Not forgotten. Buried it. With everything else. Tried not to picture this. Failed most nights when he would get himself off thinkin’ about the sounds she used to make. How wet she got when he’d barely touched her. How warm and tight her cunt was. The way her jaw would drop, go rigid when she moaned. Somethin’ he thought about when he was alone and didn’t care how much it made him hate himself – shit, he _dreamed_ about it. Even in that damn hospital bed. The drugs to ease his pain makin’ her feel like she was there. In the room.

Real enough to kiss. Real enough to kill. Pressin’ the button on his morphine drip again and again and again to stop her from fading.

But time had stolen some of her edges, the way she feels, the way she moves under his hands almost painful it’s so good.

He licks in to her mouth and she tastes like blood – the coppery tang bursting on his tongue. Can feel where it rubs off on him, sticky and thick and still warm, from her face to his.

Thinks maybe it should make him feel sick, but it doesn’t. Just like her. Spikes somethin’ hot and twisted in both of ‘em that they should probably let die.

But not right now.

He bites down on her puffy bottom lip and pulls it back, enough to make her wince. Both his hands now tight around her shoulders.

He traces the streaks of blood dryin’ down her neck and buries his face there, licks at it. Sucks the soft skin spillin’ out of her bra. Can taste the strawberries and the bitter iron. Listens to her whimpers as he scrapes his teeth up over her pulse, bites hard enough to leave marks.

It’s then he catches the dead body in the corner of his vision. The grey skin, the vacant eyes, the litres of blood and the mess of what used to be his head – feels his cock throb and press painfully against his jeans, grinds his hips against her so she can feel how hard he is.

He spins her – harshly lifts her so her ass is perched on the tables edge, probably scrapes the tops of her thighs against the rough splinters all over it, slots himself between her legs as they wrap around him on instinct. Turnin’ his back on the body.

“Look at it.” he mumbles as he undoes the button on his jeans. She drops her gaze to his zip –

“Nah, baby.” he growls, her eyes jumpin’ up, pupils blown. “Look at _that._ ” he nods over his shoulder, figures she should be the one who has to have that shit in her eye line while he fucks her.

But she nods _yes_ like she’s fine with it, _likes it_. Pulls him close, eyes heavy and locked on the dead body behind him as her hands scratch down his stubble. _Purple_ , he thinks. _Her eyes look purple._

When he gets his jeans down and pulls his cock free from his boxers she whimpers - couldn’t help herself, had to look - and he smirks. She just looks so fuckin’ _hungry_ for him, like she could cry she’s so desperate.

He reaches up under her dress and finds the lace of her thong, rips it down and away so she jolts, nearly falls and has to hold on to him, lifting her knees high to help him get rid of her panties.

When she’s bare he stops – runs his hands up her thighs and pushes her dress away so he can look at where her pussy is already drippin’ for him. His mouth watering at the sight. Like nothin’s changed. Like there ain’t three bullets and a dead hitman between now and the last time he had her like this.

He grips his cock in his hand and guides the tip through her slick folds, coats himself with _her,_ watches how her hips roll impatiently, trying to get him inside. Her little hands burrowing inside his coat, pinching at the skin of his neck as she tries to lift herself on to him. She moans somethin’ but it’s far away, strangled, not even a word.

He sinks in to her suddenly. Fast. Seein’ sparks in his vision. Smudges on a mirror. Somethin’ like sunlight. Pushed all the way in so he’s flush against her. Likes the way she cries out against his open mouth. Swapping air. Swallowing his harsh curses at how good she feels. Thinks he says it out loud.

 _Perfect._ That’s how she feels. Fuckin’ _perfect._ Silky and hot and stretchin’ around him – whole body quiverin’ like the first time he got his hands on her. Like she’s nervous.

But he knows now it’s just what he does to her.

The smears of blood on her chest are in the corner of his eye and he has to drop his face again, licks over every spot he can find, cleans her skin.

Why is the taste drivin’ him _crazy?_ Another man’s blood, the blood of the man she hired to kill him, stainin’ her body – it’s makin’ him feel like he could come _right now._

He needs her to taste it again. Make sure she’s just as gone as he is.

He lifts his face to kiss her, swirls his tongue with hers, pivots his head to lick the sticky blood from her cheek and then kisses her again.

And he knows she likes it. That they’re the same. Feels her clench around his cock every time. Wanting more.

He grabs her hips and pulls almost all the way out, thrusting back in to her quickly, starts a frenzied pace. Can’t be gentle. Doesn’t want to be.

His hips slam in to her so hard that the table legs rock back, grating on the concrete, and she almost falls, one of her hands flailing back to support herself while the other hangs on to the back of his head. Her forehead pressed against his as her nails scrape against his hair.

She’s bouncin’ on his cock when she blurts out, “You asked me – if I had plans –” she whines, her thought bein’ cut off when he hits that spot inside that has her eyes rollin’ back in to her eyelids. Makes her look possessed with pleasure.

“- why I wore this dress.” she finishes with a struggle. Her stare burnin’ in to his.

He just grunts to show he heard her, his cock pullin’ in and out of her cunt, the sounds of their wet skin fillin’ his ears.

“I wanted you to fuck me in it.” she purrs. “I put it on for you.”

It makes him angry for some reason, just as much as it breaks him. Ruptures somethin’ in his gut. The thought of her wanting him and dressing up to make it happen.

(Like he doesn’t always want her. Fuck - _always._ Every version of her. No matter what she’s wearin’. No matter what she’s done to him.)

Pisses him off that she got what she wanted. Him. Buried inside her.

He lifts both his hands from her hips, wraps them around her gory, blood smeared throat – and _squeezes._

Focuses on how her breath falters as she chokes, her eyes bulging a little as she gasps. Sputtering through strangled moans.

Can’t have her thinkin’ she gets everything she wants. Not nice. Not easy. Not just like that.

“Where?” he hears himself bite out. Squeezin’ harder, pressing his thumbs down and in. But when she rasps, tries to answer, he realises she can’t speak with his tight grip. That she can barely breathe at all.

He eases up, just a little. Enough for her to swallow air desperately, coughs, moans high and tortured as the pleasure mixes with the pain.

“Where did you want it?” he asks again. Makes his stroke hard and deep, almost unbearably slow. Wants to know what she was picturin’. The night she wanted. How different it was to _this._

“The bathroom. Your car. The alley – _ughhh_ –” her cunt flutters and pulses around him, trying to take him deeper and deeper as she starts to tremble out of control.

“Anywhere.” she wails, “I just wanted you.”

 _You have me_ he thinks. Doesn’t dare say it. Has to drop his eyes to look at where they’re joined. Chokes at the sight of it, his brows knit together - watching how his cock slips in and out of her fluidly, a wet mess covering the insides of her creamy thighs. Tries to memorise it, how she takes him. How they fit together.

Wants her to see it too. He drops one hand to the crease of her right knee and yanks it up even higher around him while the other circles to the base of her skull, forces her head to tilt forwards so they’re both watchin’ him push in and out of her warm cunt.

She keens desperately, places a bloody hand low on her belly like she can _feel_ him inside her through the skin. Starts to shiver and convulse as she winds up. Her calves pressing firmly in to his back, urgin’ him on. Crushes herself against him and licks a line from the wing of his tattoo and up over his jaw - sucks at his cheek bone. The places blood had rubbed off on his face.

His eyes screw shut, struggling to hold on to his control, sweat runnin’ down his brow – or blood, he doesn’t know, doesn’t care – as the edges of their bodies blur together. His vision goin’ hot and murky. His gut spasms, pleasure drippin’ down his spine like hot wax.

She goes rigid, somehow both melted and taut as she starts to come – babbling _Rio_ over and over. And _fuck_ if it ain’t the sweetest shit he’s ever seen. His name easily exhaled like it was trapped inside for too long.

“Elizabeth, open your eyes.” he husks, trying to get her to look at him while she falls apart.

When her eyes glide open, they ain’t purple anymore. They ain’t even blue.

They’re black. Like his.

“Tell me you’re sorry.” he commands, voice strained as he holds off, still pounding in to her as her body goes deliciously slack, boneless in his arms.

 _“No.”_ she whines, defiant.

He knew she’d say that. Wouldn’t yield. Expected it. Shit, he _knows_ he only asked so she could deny him. And it makes him so fuckin’ angry – the way he loves it.

Her lips pull up like she can read his thoughts and he pushes his forehead against hers.

“Why you?” he whispers furiously, through gritted teeth. Mostly to himself. A thought he didn’t mean to give life to.

_Why her? Why did it have to be her? Why can’t he shake this? Why can’t he let go?_

Another deep stroke, forceful enough that she cries out, her eyes waterin’ as she clenches around him hard, and he’s spillin’ inside her.

The aching release ripples all over him, long and drawn out. Moanin’ loud against her ear where his head falls to the crook of her neck. Needs somethin’ to bite down on.

He sinks his teeth in to the pearly skin of her shoulder, her hand on his scalp urging him on. A _harder_ in the way her fingers press his head down.

He tears the skin, just barely, but he tastes it. _Her_ blood. Sucks on the welt his mouth leaves behind as he continues to shallowly rock in to her.

She tastes sweet. She tastes alive.

They’re both panting. His body draped over hers as they catch their breath. Feels himself shudder all over as her fingers caress the back of his neck in little soothing circles.

He waits for regret to hit him. For some kind of disgust at this, at the two of ‘em. But it never comes.

He lays a soft kiss to the bite mark on her shoulder, pulls back, kisses her lips with the same gentle pressure. Notices how pink they are. A thin layer of dried blood, faint like a watercolour, across most of her face and chest.

She sucks on his bottom lip a moment and he lets her. Takes in the golden strands of hair curving around the formal bones of her face. Her eyelashes fanned out, the little mewlin’ sound she makes.

When she releases his lip with a wet _pop_ , a string of red spit still connecting their mouths, he slowly pulls out of her.

He holds her legs open, looking down to watch his come leaking out of her cunt on to the table. His hand lifts on instinct, runnin’ two fingers up her pink folds and mixing their come together, swirls it around her sensitive clit so her hips buck in to his palm. Can feel saliva pool at the back of his teeth.

He slowly dips two fingers in to her center, pulls them out and watches how their combined juices glisten on his knuckles. Lifts his hand to her mouth.

“Open.” he instructs, eyes heavy-lidded and focused on hers.

Her mouth widens in offering and he slides two fingers over the top of her tongue, concentrates on how she closes her lips around his knuckles and sucks their come off of ‘em. Moanin’ indulgently - a grateful whimper - her tongue swirlin’ around his finger tips as they slip free.

Her eyes drift over his shoulder then - to the body she should be lying next to - at the same second that one of her hands scratches down the front of his shirt lazily, right over the scar by his lung. And it shocks him back to clarity. Or, as clear as he can be, with Elizabeth’s legs still wrapped around him.

Tired suddenly, he realises she was right. _She’s the one who lives._

But what about him? How many chances does he give before it’s his neck on the block again?

He steps away from her, tucks himself back in to his boxers and does his jeans up. Clears his throat. “We – we need to get out of here.” he grunts, averting his gaze.

She hops off the table, smooths her dress down over shaky legs – covered in dried blood and sweat and _them._

They can’t do this. Can’t be this to each other.

And he knows he can’t let go. Not entirely. But maybe – maybe he just needs to suck it up and loosen his grip.

Cause this – this was –

“Where are we going?” she mutters, voice as unsteady as her legs.

 _“We?”_ he frowns, voice rough. _“You’re_ goin’ home, ma.”

“I don’t want to.” she whispers, wipes a hand down her cheek, picks at a knotted clump of hair crusted over with blood, like she’s _finally_ bothered by it.

“What _do_ you want, Elizabeth?” he asks. Genuinely curious.

She doesn’t answer. Just stares at him. Tryin’ to ask him somethin’ with her eyes that he hears loud and clear.

He rocks his jaw as he watches her, grinding his teeth when he nods.

“Come with me.”


	3. On All Fours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _.....we shall connect the points, draw the line, and you and I shall form that unique design for which I yearn._
> 
> \- Vladimir Nabokov, 'Invitation to a Beheading'

_Leaving warehouse. Start clean up._

Mick knows the drill. Can’t be more than a few blocks away, waitin’ for a heads-up to come back with his guys and start the business of makin’ blood and bodies disappear.

Well – the _body_. Singular. But he won’t know that ‘til he turns up.

Elizabeth shivers in the passenger seat next to him. Hands wrapped tight around her middle. He winces at the thought of the blood all over her rubbin’ off on his seats, but it looks mostly dry.

He doesn’t know what he was thinkin’. Telling her she could come with him. The unspoken fact that he’d be takin’ her back to his place, somethin’ he’d pictured lately when his thoughts would wander. Somethin’ he’d thought about after too many drinks with her, what she would look like tangled up in his sheets, his new place only a few minutes from the bar - before he remembered that wasn’t what they were. That they _shouldn’t._

But somethin’ felt cracked open between ‘em now. Stripped down to the truth in a way it’s never really been. The easiness they had settled in to feelin’ real and earned finally. Fucked up, yeah. But earned. And her _face_ – her eyes pleading to stay with him, to go where he was goin’, like she had more to say – it made him realise he didn’t want her to go home either.

And after everything they’d just done, he didn’t have the energy to fight it.

Her breath mists with every exhale, goosebumps all over her arms. Another cold tremor ripples through her violently and he swears he can almost hear her teeth chatter like she’s in a cartoon.

“Here.” he grunts, bending forward and tugging his coat down his arms, bringing it in to his lap before holding it out for her to take.

“I’m okay.” she frowns at his offer.

“Would you just _take it?”_ he shakes it in front of her, but she doesn’t move, only her eyes droppin’ to look at it suspiciously. Like she ain’t never seen a coat before. Stubborn as hell.

“God damn it -” he huffs, unfolding the collar and hookin’ it over his thumbs as he leans over to tuck it in behind her. She lifts away from the seat so he can let it fall down her back, draping the coat over her shoulders and tugging it forward so she’s tucked in to it, her arms still solidly crossed.

She peers up at him, face an inch or two from his as he pulls the collar over her neck, eyes shinin’ with gratitude as her bottom lip wobbles.

He focuses on it for a second too long before he shakes his head, “Why you gotta make everythin’ so difficult, huh?” pushing back in to his seat, dragging a hand down the scruff at his jaw and letting out a long suffering sigh.

_Fuck, it’s cold._

Her coat was still in a bloody pile next to the hitman. Somethin’ he hadn’t figured out how to explain to Mick just yet.

In his periphery, she brings her fingers to the edges of his coat and tugs it tighter around her. Thinks she’s bein’ slick, that he doesn’t notice, when she buries her face in to the collar and inhales deeply.

“Thank you.” she mutters, all timid.

He just hums to show he heard her, starting the car and pullin’ away from the warehouse.

They’re ten minutes out when his phone buzzes, and when he stops at a red light he reaches back to take it out of his pocket.

Mick.

_Where is she?_

He was kind of hopin’ he’d leave it, that he’d just deal with the shit in front of him and chew him out for bein’ a weak li’l bitch tomorrow. Give Rio some time to work out what to say. Maybe spin some tired bull about _needin’ her alive_ that he’d heard way too many times before. He didn’t need to know what had gone down.

 _I took care of it._ he replies, the light turnin’ green.

He’s about to chuck the phone on to the dashboard, turning down the road that goes past the bar when it vibrates in his palm again.

_You took care of sumthin, compa._

He scowls at the bright screen, eyes jumping between it and the road as he tries to understand what he’s gettin’ at.

When it hits him.

“Did you -?” he twists to look at Elizabeth, their eyes locking until he drops his gaze down purposefully – to between her legs. His eye line finishing the question.

_Did you put your panties back on?_

He stares at her legs, eyes burnin’, like he can see through the thin dress covering her, tries to remember if he saw her do it before they left. Where he had thrown them.

Her thighs squeeze together under his gaze, like she’s gettin’ hot again with the way he’s focused intently on her cunt and he drags his eyes back up to hers.

And, yeah. She was definitely warmin’ up.

But she slowly shakes her head _no._

 _“Fuck.”_ he growls, hittin’ the steering wheel in frustration.

They’d left quickly, he only stopped to pick up his gun and then he was walkin’ out, her heels clickin’ behind him. Hadn’t even thought about it.

So Mick was lookin’ at one dead body, a bloody coat, and a pair of Elizabeth’s pink panties balled up near the table – but no Elizabeth.

The phone buzzes again.

_You ain’t payin me enough for this._

He throws the phone on to the dash, too irritated to deal with it right now. Ignoring the way his fingers twitch against the wheel, nails picking at the stitching in the leather as he fights an urge to reach over and pull her dress up and touch her.

He doesn’t expect her to start laughin’.

He turns to her, angry, and she’s already looking at him. Eyes bright and that pointy tooth peeking out as she giggles. The effect a li’l unhinged with the blood still staining her face and dried in her hair. Cute, though. Obviously figured out why he was pissed and what was goin’ on –

“This ain’t funny, ma.”

She laughs louder, snorts, and he can’t help it. Can feel himself smilin’ back at her before he bites down on his lip and turns away. Tries to refocus on the road as they come up to his neighborhood.

She gets quiet as the car slows, peering out the window and inspecting everythin’ she sees like it tells her shit about him. Squinting through the dark at the brunch place he likes set in to the bottom corner of his building.

He pulls in to the lot round the side and parks. The car rockin’ to a stop, the silence washin’ over them.

The heaviness of it. Thoughts about his old place. The loft where things went to hell. The last time she’d been in his home –

“This is where you live?”

She’s looking at her left hand, picking at the blood caked under her nails.

“Yeah,” he drawls, shifting his hips in his seat. “Yeah, now it is.”

She’s anxious. He can feel it in the air. In the way she won’t look at him.

“Well, it’s really nice.”

He scoffs, all she’s seen is a brick wall and a parking lot at night but damn if she doesn’t go straight to bein’ awkwardly polite when she’s nervous like this. “It’s nicer inside, mama.” He reaches out to place a hand on top of hers - both of them fitting in his palm - to stop her fidgeting, trying to scratch the flakes of blood away from her skin. She goes still instantly, lifts her eyes.

“Let’s get this shit cleaned off you, yeah?” lifting his hand to tug at her clumped hair. Her left hand reaching up to run the back of her fingers down his jaw, stroking through his stubble. Eyeing the spots on him where there must be smears of dried blood.

“You too.”

He nods and moves away from her, stepping out of the car and rounding to her side to help her out.

She slips her arms in to the sleeves of his coat before she takes his hand and steps down to the concrete, the cuffs hanging loose over her palms. He scans her body - she could tuck her face down if someone saw them, but her white legs were still on display, smudges all down her left calf and a large red blood stain in the shape of his hand printed on her right knee like a brand.

“C’mon then,” he gestures her to follow, “’fore my neighbors start talkin’.”

She smirks and falls in to step behind him as he turns towards the glass doors of his building.

How was this where the night had gone? A few hours ago he was psychin’ himself up to kill her, but they’d fucked instead, hard and fast and bloody and just as stupid good as he remembered – _better_ somehow - and now he was bringing her home?

They luck out. Nobody sees them in the lobby, and nobody joins them in the elevator to the top floor where his place is. His and his alone.

When he unlocks his front door he holds it open, wordlessly tilting his chin for her to _go ahead._

She totters past him in to the darkness, coming to a stop near one of the metal support beams as he closes the door and flicks the main light on, the whole open space coming in to clarity with a warm glow.

He walks up behind her, leaning his shoulder in to the beam at her side and watches her face as she scans the loft. Eyes wide like she’s tryin’ to see everything at once.

“It’s so much like –” she turns her face to his, frowning. Doesn’t finish her thought.

_It’s so much like your old place._

The place she shot him.

Rio sniffs, casts his eyes around with a shrug. “Yeah, I guess. Kinda.”

Cause yeah. A mostly open layout. Kitchen in the corner and his bed at the far end. More wood than brick though. Metal beams. Marcus’s room down a corridor with his own bathroom and a li’l extra den just for him with all his toys and a T.V he eventually caved and bought him.

But it was similar. The art. The furniture. More plants, maybe. More pictures of his family on display. His mother and father on their wedding day - colours bleached by the sun but smiles huge and enduring - front and center on the shelf so Marcus would know their faces.

“You didn’t want –”

“What?” he bites.

“Something different?”

_Something that didn’t remind you._

He studies her closely, runs his tongue slowly along his teeth as he squints at her. “I dunno. Once I like somethin’ I like it.”

She gapes at him a moment, keeps starin’ as he lifts a hand to push her tangled hair out of her face.

He moves away from the beam and comes to stand behind her, lifting his hands to pull his coat down her shoulders, throwing it over the back of his couch once it’s off.

She stands with her back pressed against his chest for a moment, can feel her heartbeat thudding as he pushes closer.

He strokes a finger up her arm, all the way from her wrist to the top of her bicep where the sleeve of the dress sits, tugs on the fabric.

“Think we need to get you out of this.” he hums against her ear.

She twists in his grip to face him, battin’ her lashes and wetting her bottom lip with her tongue. That doe-eyed shit she does when she wants him to kiss her.

“It’s evidence, ma.” he smirks, stepping back. “Need to get rid of it, is all.”

She blinks fast, grinds her jaw. “I don’ have anything else to wear.”

Rio’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead as he grins like _not a problem._

“Don’t even _think_ –”

“You can wear somethin’ of mine.” he purrs.

She swallows hard, “Like what?”

He drags his eyes down her body thoughtfully, imagines her in so many different ways, gets torn between what he _wants_ to see her in and what she’ll be comfortable with. When he turns on his heel and heads for his closet, rifling through his sweats and tees, he settles on something that satisfies both needs.

He strolls back, her eyes locked on the single item of clothing in his hand. One of his black hoodies, a little too long on him but would probably fit snug on her, would for _sure_ cover her ass.

Maybe.

“This do?” he offers it up.

She looks at it, nods a little unenthused as she reaches her hand out to take it.

“Nuh uh, hold up” he pulls it away, “you gotta shower first.”

“Okay,” she whispers, clears her throat. Fiddles with a knot in her hair. “um, where is that?”

He leads her to the sliding doors near his bed that open up to his bathroom. A large glass shower with matte black fixtures and marble for every surface.

He places the hoodie down on the counter near the sink as she follows him in. Her heels echoing on the marble with every step.

When their eyes meet, he can see it. The question. But she doesn’t voice it.

But when he wordlessly walks past her, his fingers on the handle –

“What about you?”

He turns back to her, clenches his jaw. “What about me?”

“You’ve got blood on you too.” she points out, like maybe he didn’t notice. “Shouldn’t you -?” she gestures at the shower, cheeks burning pink at the suggestion that he join her.

He sucks his bottom lip in to his mouth. And _yeah,_ he thought about it. _Obviously._ Can’t stop picturin’ it. Her body soaking wet and soapy crushed up against his as they let the water turn cold.

But – _damn,_ he’s not sure – not sure he can. Feels too - - _domestic?_ Shit a couple would do.

“Nah, darlin’.” he sniffs, turning away. “I’ma take care of myself.”

He slides the door closed, hears the wood _snap_ in to place, and stops. Waits right by it as he thinks about sayin’ _fuck it_ and showin’ her how his shower works in detail. The settings she’d like. Scrubbing her pearly skin with his hands. Like if he’s the one cleaning that guy’s blood off of her it’ll somehow make it less fucked up. The thought drivin’ him crazy.

It’s darker on his side, the bathroom light striking white, so when he sees a shadow move at the bottom of the door, he knows she’s standing on the other side.

She must have taken her heels off, the pad of bare feet _almost_ unnoticeable. The shadow stays still a moment, like she’s thinkin’ the same shit as him, before it quickly moves away, the spray of the shower turning on.

He takes himself to Marcus’s li’l bathroom. Kicks his shoes off, undoes the top few buttons on his shirt and starts scrubbing the blood off his face, his neck, his hands, washing himself everywhere it stains, bent over the sink. It’s not like he’s got it all over his body like her. Just where she touched him. Rubbed it on him.

As the last of it spills down the drain he cups his hand under the running tap and sucks water in to his mouth, swirls it around and spits. Getting rid of any taste of iron. His mouthwash in the other bathroom, with Elizabeth.

He drags a fluffy towel down his face, throwing it in to the empty hamper before walking back out in to the main space, the lights still low, a sense of _home_ and of breathin’ out finally sittin’ in his bones.

When he hears the shower turn off, he waits. Leans back against a beam in the middle of the loft.

Elizabeth steps out a few moments later – and his jaw drops.

She’s got his hoodie on, zipped up to her collarbone, the bottom hem stretched tight over her hips and _just_ covering her ass. Nothin’ underneath it. And when she lifts a hand to push a damp strand of hair behind her ear, it rises –

He makes a low, rumbling sound in his chest at the sight and her eyes find his immediately.

She walks towards him, pulling the too-long sleeves over the heels of her palms, leanin’ her weight in to every step so her hips swing. When she gets close he can see that her skin’s still damp, scrubbed clean. Patches of pink, her cheeks rosy and warm from the steam.

The first thing that hits him is how she doesn’t smell like strawberries, but like _him_. The peppery orange and cedar wood all over her skin.

The hoodie. The scent. Her blue eyes peering up at him. Her chest brushing against his.

 _Her_ – in his home. Safe and alive and lookin’ like half his daydreams - half his nightmares -

All of it - it triggers somethin’ intensely _possessive._

“Better?” she whispers, dropping her eyes to the hoodie and glancing up at him through her lashes.

“It’ll do.” he grunts. Struggling to keep his hands at his side. Tryin’ to act unaffected.

He’s not sure what to do now. Hadn’t really thought it through. Cause he was still angry. That was still in him. Still didn’t understand. Still wasn’t sure they could get past it and – _what?_ What even was this?

Her hand lifts, finds the edge of his open shirt. Finger dipping in to his collar like it’s a page she wants to turn.

Like she wants to see underneath.

He grabs her wrist hard. “Stop.”

“What?”

“We ain’t doin’ this again, mama.” _We can’t. We shouldn’t._

Her face looks hurt, but she’s _too close_ , her hips slotted against his tight enough to feel him gettin’ hard, and she smiles all cocky.

Which just makes it worse.

“So, next to a dead body, covered in his blood - that was it? _That_ did it for you and now you don’t want me?” she mutters close to his lips. Makin' her voice all breathy. “Maybe if you point a gun at me you’ll feel better -”

He grabs her jaw harshly, cuts her off, her lips poppin’ forward in a pout.

“You know why there was a gun pointed at you, baby.” he growls. “Don’t act like you don’t.” Peering down at her mouth, he traces his thumb under her bottom lip, thinks about the way it dragged up the tip of the gun. “And don’t act like you didn’t get off on it.”

“And you didn’t?” she pulls back from his grip, eyes boring in to his. “I saw it.” she whispers, “When you told me to get on my knees.”

He swallows hard, thinks about the way she slowly tugged her dress up, her heated focus as she knelt. Curses himself for not hidin’ what it did to him, that she clearly fuckin’ clocked it.

The same way he saw it when he told her to kneel. How she trembled all over.

“You like when I do what I’m told, don’t you?”

“Doesn’t happen very often.” he hums, a hint of reverence seepin’ in to his tone. Trying to keep a hold of his sanity with the way she’s lookin’ at him - her hands spread across his stomach, stroking down.

“Maybe I’m in a giving mood.”

His jaw rocks, any resolve melting away, his eyes heavy-lidded as she waits for instruction eagerly.

“Get on all fours.” he commands.

Her breath shudders out of her, body shiverin’ against his.

“What?” she asks innocently. But he knows she heard him. Knows she’s only askin’ cause she wants to hear him say it again.

“Get. On. _All fours.”_ he purrs, voice hoarse and low.

She doesn’t bother hidin’ what he does to her then. Eyes closing for a long, overwhelmed moment.

When they open, she takes a few slow steps backwards. His gaze locked on to every movement as she turns her back to him, sinks down to the floor ‘til she’s kneeling, then rocks forward, pressin’ her palms in to the floorboards.

The hem of his hoodie rides up, enough that he can see the very tops of her thighs, the curve of her ass. Can see that he was right, that the splintered table at the warehouse had scraped her skin, her ass covered in tiny grazes, the skin visibly tender.

She peeks over her shoulder. Waits.

He juts his chin across the loft, “Crawl to my bed.”

She stares at him, her breathing gettin’ heavy, just like his, before she turns her head back.

She tentatively crawls forward, lettin’ her hips rock every time she picks up a knee and drags it forward. The hoodie sliding up higher.

He starts to follow, unable to hang back anymore, walks right up to just behind her feet and peers down. She half turns her head at the sound of him comin’ up behind her, but doesn’t stop crawling.

Just arches her back more. Tilts her hips up toward him. Basking in his attention. His footsteps falling in to sync with her rhythm as he stalks behind her.

He’s breathless when they get near the bed. The image of her in nothin’ but his hoodie, crawlin’ beneath him - feels too much like he’s won somethin’. Too hot to be real.

“What n-” she lets out a shocked squeak when he stops moving slowly and suddenly swoops down, wraps his arms all the way around her waist and lifts her body off the floor. Flailing in his arms as he steps forward and throws her on to his bed, landing ungracefully on her front.

She pushes up on to her hands and knees again, the hoodie bunched up around her waist as he comes to kneel behind her.

She gasps when his cold zip presses against her, tries to rock back in to him but he stills her with a firm grip on either side of her hips.

“Don’t move.”

She goes still - until he reaches down to undo his jeans and she rocks back in to him again.

He brings the palm of his hand down on her ass hard, smacking her so she gasps. Kneading the scraped, pink skin. “Elizabeth,” he bends over so his back is flush against hers, growls in to the nape of her neck. “I said _don’t move_.”

He pulls back up, smacks her ass again, harder. “You hear me?”

“Yes,” she whines. “Yes I heard you.”

He undoes his jeans and pushes them down with his boxers, pulling his cock in to his hand and lining up with her cunt, sinking in to her slowly as her knees shake.

They both grunt as he pushes inside, deeper and deeper. The warm, wet velvet of her pussy clenching around him. His hips going still when he’s all the way in. Taking a second to glance down at her ass in his hands, her pink folds where she’s split around him, the way her palms are tearing at the bed sheet, little tortured sounds of pleasure leaving her mouth, desperate for him to move.

He starts slow, slower than she wants – hands tight on her hips as he controls the pace.

But she gets impatient, rocking back against him so hard he chokes, his grip loosening. Giving her a chance to take control, change the rhythm, fucking herself back on to him faster.

He watches her ass bounce against him for a moment, delights in the view, before he grips her hips and stops her, pulls all the way out and harshly flips her body as she whines at the loss of him inside. Landing on her back as he settles between her legs.

He kisses her harshly, tastes the citrus of his mouthwash on her tongue as he grabs the zip of the hoodie and yanks it down.

Pushing up on to his hands, locking his arms out, he gets a good look at her. Her skin glowing against his dark grey sheets, the way her breasts heave with every frantic breath, nipples hard.

He ducks his head to suck at them, swirling his tongue around one and then the other as she wails, needing him back inside her.

Her hands fist in his shirt, pulling it up, forwards, sideways, almost tearing it.

“I want it off.” she begs, and he rears up to look at her face. “I want it all off.”

He grinds his teeth as he looks in to her eyes, the deep blue, the need to _see it._ See him.

He lifts away from her and stands next to the bed as she shucks the hoodie off completely, lets it fall to the floor.

He kicks his jeans and boxers off as she watches from the bed.

“Touch yourself.” he drawls.

Her eyes flutter, more affected by his voice than the command, he can tell. Her hands twisting in the sheets as his lift to his shirt buttons.

“Nah, you heard me.” he growls. “Do as you’re told.”

Her right hand strokes over hip and down between her legs and he follows the movement. The slow strokes of her fingers over her clit, her jaw falling open, eyes still intent on his.

 _God, she’s fuckin’ beautiful._ All the times he pictured her in his bed – he wasn’t doin’ her justice.

Her hair fanned out on the pillows, the curves of her body, her toes curling as she sinks two fingers inside her, biting her lip.

He gets the last button of his shirt undone and hesitates for a second, before rolling his shoulders and pulling it down his arms.

She whines when she sees the faded brown edges of his scars, eyes glistening with tears but her fingers pumpin’ faster, breath gettin’ more shallow.

He doesn’t know what he expected – but it wasn’t that.

He climbs back between her legs, yanking her hand away from her cunt and holding it up above her head, reaching for her other hand and pulling it up so they’re both in his palm.

Her eyes skirt over his chest, her hips bucking up off the bed against his cock and he grunts, holding her hands tighter in his left hand while the other strokes down her stomach to settle on her hip bone.

 _Nobody’s like her_ is all he can think. He doesn’t understand it, this shit between ‘em, just knows he’s gonna hold on to it.

Feels like he _knows_ her, knows every part. Even though sometimes she’s a complete fuckin’ mystery to him.

Resists being pinned down.

With words, anyway.

He pushes inside her again, keeps her hands locked above her head as he moves, pulling her thigh up high and hooking her knee round his shoulder, hittin’ a different angle that makes her wail, high and free. Loves that he can get those sounds out of her. Likes to picture it when they fight. Cause yeah he makes her mad, but _fuck_ if he can’t make her scream.

He thrusts deeper and faster, buildin’ her up, all her muscles goin’ tense under him, sinking his teeth in to her bottom lip as she groans.

He brushes his open mouth against hers, panting in to her. “Don’t come.” he purrs and she almost cries.

Her hips try to urge him on but he maintains his pace, knows she’s goin’ crazy. “Elizabeth,” he husks, “you’re not allowed to come until I let you.”

She starts clenching around his cock, knows she’s right on the edge but stoppin’ herself from falling, slurrin’ her words as she begs _Rio_ and _God_ and _please please please._

He can feel his gut tighten, screws his eyes shut to keep control as he drags his free hand down to rub his thumb over her clit.

She crushes her lips together, fighting to hold off her orgasm.

His stroke gets faster, hips snapping against hers and he lets her hands go so he can drop his mouth to her neck, her arms springing up to wrap around his shoulders, nails digging in.

Sparks shoot up his spine, skin prickly, his vision going blurry every time he pushes in. _So warm. So tight._ Waits until he knows he’s goin’ to lose it before he turns his lips so they brush against the shell of her ear and grunts a harsh _now, baby._

She screams out as she comes, at the same time that he spills inside her, choking in to her neck.

He kisses her throat lazily - sloppy, hot kisses. Licks at the tickly spot behind her ear. Whispers _good girl_ in to her skin and feels her shiver all over.

After a minute or so of letting himself sink his weight against her, he pulls out slowly and lifts away. Rolling off her to lie at her side. The only sound their labored breathing.

He rocks his head to look at her profile in the low light, the slope of her nose, the outline of her lips as she breathes – and for the first time since they got to his place he notices her neck.

The imprint of his hands blooming on her pale throat, red marks where his fingers wrapped around it, purple bruises from the pressure of his thumbs on her windpipe. And darker still, the outline of his mouth where he’d bitten her shoulder. The plum-coloured teeth marks and a thin scab where the skin had broken.

He reaches out to stroke her neck gently, tracing the marks he’d made like he can soothe them away with his touch.

She turns her face to watch him for a moment, before placing her hand on top of his.

“I’m fine.” she assures him.

He hums, runs his hand down her neck, over her sternum, her stomach - until he refocuses on the little smudged tattoo near the crease of her hip. He smiles lazily, circling his index finger around the Chinese symbol. Her body jerking like it tickles.

“What’s this mean, huh?”

She pulls her eyes from his hand and looks at him, her lips tugging up before she tries to squash it.

“Spring.” she says, very seriously, and he bursts out laughing.

She whacks him in the chest, “Stop!”

“What the fuck, ma. _Why?”_

“I don’t know. It was _spring_ break and I was drunk.” she giggles.

“Oh, so you _that_ lady, yeah?”

“It made sense at the time, okay.”

“Aight, fair enough.”

The hand resting on his chest strokes up his abs, brushing against his scars, but her face doesn’t change, just zeroes in on his chain and tugs on the pendant.

“Elizabeth,” he murmurs, “why’d you call it off?”

Her eyes go wide as she studies him, sighing a little, like he should _know_ why.

“Same reason you couldn’t pull the trigger today. That I knew you wouldn’t.” she mutters, pressing her palm flat to his chest. Feeling his heart beat, can see how it grounds her. Pumping _alive alive alive._ Like she needs to double check.

“This isn’t finished.” she whispers, so small and hushed he almost misses it. Tracing his scars as she speaks. “I’ve tried cutting you out. It doesn’t work. I wish – _god,_ it would be easier if it could just be _done,_ if I could let it go but – I realised I don’t want to. And when I stopped to breathe and think it through I knew I didn’t _have_ to. So why should I?”

He hums in response, letting her words sink in. Lifts his hand to her face so he can push her hair back behind her ear where she’s turned towards him on her side, stroking his thumb down her cheek.

“There’s gonna be fallout from tonight, ma.” he sighs, remembering his broken word. The way he’s never goin’ to be able to explain this shit away to Eric. “It’s gonna be a problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got debts that need paying. Killin’ you, gettin’ my shit together, that was part of wipin’ the slate clean for me. But now -” he exhales deeply. “The guy I owe wants you gone. And he’ll want _me_ gone for fuckin’ with him.”

Elizabeth frowns, her eyes jumpin’ around as she tries to understand.

“Well, what are we going to do about it?” she asks.

_“We?”_

“Yeah. You. Me. _We._ Together.”

He smiles, spiraling a curl of her hair around his finger. “You wanna take the red pill, huh?”

He wanted to keep her out of it, but not as much as he wanted her by his side.

She nods, her eyes getting heavy when he releases her hair and starts tracin’ patterns on her shoulder.

She asks some more questions about Eric, about how they should handle it, but her words come out jumbled and slow as sleep starts to take her and eventually her eyes just stay closed, face goin’ all peaceful and sweet in a way he’s never been lucky enough to see.

He pulls the sheet up and over them both, peers at her face in the dark. _Her_ – asleep in his bed. A weird feelin’ of being content heavy in his chest.

His mind drifts to his parents. Back when they were good and life hadn’t dealt ‘em shitty hand after shitty hand. When he was young he wanted what they had. Simple shit. Thinks about ‘em doing the dishes together. _You wash, I’ll dry._ Both humming their parts of a song only they could hear. His mother laughing, clear like the chimes on the porch, when his father would hug her from behind. Distracting her with kisses and soapy hands on her waist.

Easy, lived-in love.

But nobody could have that. That was theirs. And – fucked up and painful as it is – maybe nobody could have this either. What he’s got with Elizabeth.

* * * * *

It escalated when Eric made the dumb mistake of threatenin’ Elizabeth’s kids.

For the most part, he had kept his bullshit aimed at _him_ and him alone. Rhea and Marcus with their 24/7 watch somethin’ he didn’t have the energy for.

After he found out Elizabeth was alive, and that Rio had no intention of killin’ her, that’s when the note showed up, pinned to his door.

_Two in the lungs so it’s slow. And I won’t miss like your girlfriend._

It didn’t bother him - he’s had better threats - not like it bothered Elizabeth, but he told her they were takin’ care of it. That the moves they were makin’ were gonna pay off.

That’s when Elizabeth started gettin’ messages from a number Rio knew belonged to one of Eric's guys. Grainy pictures of her kids at school, the park, her house.

And she saw red.

Their feet crunch over gravel, the warehouse shutter pulled high. Mick’s leanin’ against the wall where he’s been waitin’ for ‘em, the cherry end of his cigarette burnin’ in the dark.

He stretches his free hand out to shake Rio’s. “Evenin’, Mrs. B.” nodding in Elizabeth’s direction before turnin’ back to Rio. “He’s in there. You’re good to go.”

Rio looks around Mick in to the Warehouse to see a man bound and gagged and blindfolded.

“Aight, good work. We’ll take it from here.”

Mick flicks his eyes to Elizabeth then back to Rio with a heavy sigh. “Do me a solid and keep it business this time, yeah?” he smacks Rio on the shoulder hard before he starts to walk back to his car.

Rio rolls his eyes and turns to Elizabeth. Her gaze locked on the man in the warehouse.

“Elizabeth,” he lifts a hand to her neck, hooks a finger underneath the pearl necklace he’d since returned to her and tugs it to get her attention. “You don’t have to do this.” he offers. “I can take care of it.”

“I know.” she smiles serenely up at him, grateful for the choice, before the steely resolve washes over again. The peaceful rage. “But I want to.”

She turns from him, starts walkin’ in to the warehouse, and he follows.

They split and come around either side of Eric, coming back together to meet in front of him.

Rio steps forward and pulls off the scarf covering his eyes.

“Eric fuckin’ Church! Shit man, it’s been too long.” Rio smiles, all teeth. “How you been? You ain’t lookin’ too hot.”

He yells somethin’ muffled and furious that he can’t make out.

“Yeah, I didn’t get a word of that.” Rio mocks.

He reaches behind him and grabs the gun out of his waistband, pulls the slide back to chamber a round and holds the barrel of the gun in his hand. Lifts it out to his side for Elizabeth without takin’ his eyes off Eric.

“See, Eric. What’s gonna happen is this. She’s gonna shoot you. Two in the lungs so it’s slow. Then I’m gonna bend her over this table and fuck her while you bleed out. Cool, mama?”

He swings his chin round to look at Elizabeth, finds her gaze already on him. Can see she’s turned _all_ the way on. Her chest heaving. Pupils blown with desire.

He licks his lips, “Yeah,” he drawls, still locked to her eyes. “Yeah, she likes that plan.”

Eric muffles somethin’ else, as if garbled bullshit is gonna save him now and Rio shakes his head in disgust. “He’s all yours, darlin’.”

Elizabeth moves to stand in front of Eric and raises her arm, shifts her feet in to a stance he showed her once, sees her think about her breathin’ and feels a swell of pride - right before she fires off two shots.

The first bullet goes straight through his neck, the second through his cheek. Makin’ his eyes roll back in to his head as he dies instantly, collapsing back on to the concrete.

“God, your aim’s terrible, baby.” he mutters. Ruined his _two in the lungs_ thing. “We gotta work on that.”

He reaches out to take the gun from her and she hands it over a little dazed.

He flicks the safety on and tucks it back in to his jeans, then lifts his hand to slide a finger under her chin, gettin' her to look at him.

“You good?” he asks, gentle. Searchin’ her face. She nods slowly but doesn’t speak.

“Wanna leave?”

Her eyes go dark, a devious curl to her lips as she starts backing away, dropping her hands to her thighs and gripping the fabric of her dress in her hands. Bunches it up slowly as she walks backwards, gaze stuck to him.

“We’re not done here.” she purrs, bending over the table and pulling her dress up higher.

It’s one of those skin tight numbers, the navy one that hugs her body so perfect. It rides up slowly as she wiggles her hips before the stretch in the fabric makes it snap up, revealin’ her ass in a quick motion that gets him suckin’ in air at the sight.

No panties on.

He tilts his head, smiles, runs his tongue along his teeth - enjoyin’ the view for a moment - before he drops his hand to his belt buckle and strides over.

She’s right.

They ain’t done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! *big hugs*


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